The Way We Play
by littlestarlights
Summary: Finn, Rachel and the rules of the 'let's-lock-all-of-our-emotions-behind-this-glass-box' kind of game. Two-shot, AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Finchel with a sort of 'friends with benefits'-esque. I saw the movie, loved it, and then got this stuck in my head. It's not a replica or anything, but it is a little long. Yeah. I'd say sorry, but I'm not, so... Op! This is completely and utterly AU, by the way. I know this is unusual, me writing a two-shot, but I figured I'd post both segments at once (I hate waiting for updates as much as the next person) and call it a day. I really do hope you enjoy this, though.

* * *

><p>"I've never been good at it," she starts, her brown pupils expanding when she speaks. It's almost too dramatic for his taste, but yet Finn still catches himself licking his lips (twice) when the girl goes on and on about being 'emotionally unavailable in the ever-populated dating world'.<p>

Another person in the room asks, "So your skills are limited, aren't they?"

Finn tries not to laugh when the brunette purses her lips, flattens out her checkered skirt and hums before answering. "No," she says. "That's almost so inaccurate it stings. Being emotionally unavailable has nothing to do with being uninterested or incapable of partaking in sexual intercourse."

Most of the room snorts. Finn just stares. Are people this odd supposed to be this damn intriguing? Whatever. This girl's odd yet strangely hot, and _that's_ what gets him.

"As a matter of fact," she goes on, "my being a single woman of twenty-four with an apartment of my own, the offers pile up by the dozens."

Finn speaks for the first time. "Is that a lie?"

She shoots him one of those awful death glares you'd see in a movie on serial killers. The girl? She's the killer. Finn's her target, and he gets the stink eye for what feels like an hour before she answers with a tight-lipped, "No."

"Just checkin'."

"Well don't," she says, turning her head so their eyes meet completely. "I'm sure you mean well... uh..." She scans the stupid name tag the director of the meeting put on him beforehand, and he watches the way she hitches her brows, letting out a gulp. "Finn? Is that short for anything? Finneas? Finnegan? My great uncle's cousin's middle name was Finneas, but I'm almost like... eighty-one percent sure he used 'Finn'. Yes, he used Finn. Yes, he did.."

Finn raises both of his brows, scrunching his nose slightly. "You sure know how to talk a lot, uh..."

"Rachel Berry," she interrupts.

"Right. Rachel. Um, damn. Yeah, I'm... I'm just... s'just Finn. Finn Hudson."

"Oh," she nods, her lips tight and her hands folded in her lap. "Wonderful."

The meeting ends five minutes later and he's quick to pull out his phone to text his stepbrother (a few curses included) with a very sarcastic 'thanks' for signing him up for these stupid 'singles' meetings.

He feels a hand to his back not two seconds after sending the text, Rachel's large brown eyes meeting his, her lips forming a sympathetic grin. "Perhaps you're emotionally damaged," she says.

He narrows his eyes because, well, the_ hell_ is this chick saying? He practically slept through the entire first portion of the meeting and he's got no idea what being 'emotionally damaged' means anyway.

"You spoke not two words at that meeting," she says, lifting her hand off of the small of his back and turning around so she's in front of him. She's short — _really_ short. Like, a Keebler elf kind of short, maybe. She's got on a blue-and-white checkered skirt with a solid black top, tucked in almost too perfectly. She's wearing gold flats even _he_ knows don't match, but she doesn't seem too bothered by them at all. She just puts on her best smile and lets one of her fingers tread through a lock of hair just beside her boob.

"I... I didn't wanna be there."

"The _world_ could've detected that," she tells him. "I mean, your eyes shifted to the floor every second — excluding the few seconds you decided to question me in the middle of my speaking, but..."

"'But' nothing," he says. "My stepbrother decided it'd be a good idea to sign me up for these stupid meetings at the community center twice a week."

"Stupid meetings?" And she goes on even when he notices the leader of the meeting exiting through the back door from the corner of his eye. He shakes that off, hopes the doors stay unlocked and prays she won't go on any longer, because he's _totally_ got a _Hell's Kitchen_ marathon calling his name back at home.

"Yeah, y'know, the kind of stupid meetings you see in all of the movies yet never really knew existed."

She nods as if she gets it, but he can tell by the confused look on her face she just... doesn't.

"Hey, Rachel, y'know..." he trails off, one hand absentmindedly finding its way to her shoulder. "I'll see you around."

"The next meeting is on Tuesday!" she calls out once he's got a grip on the doorknob, his hands in his pockets as he digs around for his keys.

"Y—yeah," he says, top teeth tugging down on his bottom lip. "Dunno about that one."

But he does, and he's never going back to those stupid ass meetings at that stupid ass center with all of those stupid ass singles.

It's all stupid. Except for Rachel. She's kind of... not.

* * *

><p>So he goes to the next meeting. And the next. Singles meetings. Who's idea was that anyway?<p>

Whatever. He sits with his elbow propped up on his knee, his chin buried in his hand, his eyes only prying up anytime someone throws out the word 'sex'.

Today, it's Rachel. "Sex is more than just an intimate act to me," she begins. "I mean, I used to believe in the whole 'I'm-waiting-until-marriage-for-this-just-because-it-seems-like-the-right-thing-to-do' approach, but I dropped that soon after senior year began."

"And you had sex with...?" Someone from the corner of the room asks.

Finn notices the way her jaw quivers. (Yes, he's sort of actually paying _attention_ now). "H—his name was Jesse," she says like she doesn't want to, and then she clutches her throat and gulps. "He was my high school sweetheart, one of those guys you'd classify with a 'first love' sort of label, y'know? He was special to me, Jesse, but soon after high school he left for college, and then we lost touch. It sucked because—"

"Because you fell in love with him, lost your virginity to him, planted the whole 'I'm-going-to-marry-this-guy-just-because-I-gave-it-up-to-him' scenario in your head and were discouraged when it didn't work out, right?" Finn doesn't mean to speak, but he does.

She nods coyly. "Yes. Exactly."

He swallows — hard. "S'what happened to me," he says. "Quinn Fabray was her name. She was the whole package — hot, blonde, cheerleader, rich parents, nice house, top of the pyramid sort of girl. She and I both had the idea we'd grow up together, go to the same college, end up working close to home, raise a family together..." he trails off with a sigh.

Rachel's eyes grow sympathetic, and she places a hand on his kneecap without him even realizing for a minute. To be honest, he forgot she was next to him the entire time. (She switched spots with one of the quietest girls in the room early on in the meeting, offering her a twenty dollar bill to scoot on over, probably just to give Finn the impression she was actually interested in being his friend or whatever).

The meeting ends five minutes later, some guy named Billy squeezing in a story about his abusive ex-girlfriend and her crazy cat addiction in right before everyone packs up to head out.

"Looking forward to seeing you all on Friday!" The director calls out, then takes her bag, stacks a few chairs up, pushes them to the corner of the room and leaves.

Finn clears his throat when he notices Rachel standing all by herself, still leaned over by her chair, the only unstacked chair in the room.

"I know you're looking at me," she calls out loud and proud, using her right hand to push her bangs out of her face, looking to the floor as she lifts her chair up by the legs. "Finn, you can come over here y'know, I don't bite."

He smooths his hands over his jacket and says, "Y—yeah, I know."

She only stills, letting out an elongated breath. "Hey, d'you wanna go out for coffee sometime? I mean, I don't exactly take you as a coffee person or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot, and—"

"Yes," he nods, hands in his pockets. "'Course."

Her eyes light up at that, and then she pulls her phone out from her coat pocket, quickly typing. "I'm free... well... _now_."

"Yeah, so am I." And he is, so he goes, one hand (strangely) finding it's way to the small of her back as they both exit the door. "By the way, I really hate these meetings. Tell me I'm not the only one."

So she does. "I hate them too," she confesses, head ducked down as if it's wrong. She spots her car then, he thinks, because she pulls her keys out of her purse and says, "It's... that's my car. Should I...?"

He shrugs. "I walk everywhere. I mean, it's New York, so..."

She bites down on her lip for that one, hiding a peering smile he _knows_ is there. "I love New York," she says giddily, followed by a 'sorry', which, yeah, he's _totally_ confused about. The hell is she apologizing for? If she weren't so crazy (yeah, the girl's sort of _insane_, and he can tell that by just a few weeks at these 'singles' meetings), it'd be kind of cute, even.

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks, head ducked down to the sidewalk as the both of them start to make their way down the street, his mind set on finding one of the nearest coffee shops he remembers being right on the corner. He doesn't get out as often as he'd like to, but he _does_ know his way around, for the most part.

"Because it was hardly relevant to the conversation," she admits, head hung low, cracking her fingers (he thinks it's a nervous thing). "Where are you from, Finn?"

By the time he thinks of whether to tell her the truth or sugarcoat his story so he seems like, less lame, he's opening the door to one of the nearest coffee shops, letting her squeeze on in before he follows. "I'm, uh... I'm from Ohio. Nothin' special."

She looks intrigued, though, and that confuses him, because, well, the hell is so special about _Ohio_? He's anxious to hear her story, so he jumps in on line, stands beside her and folds his arms at his chest.

"Ohio, huh? That's something. How'd you end up here in New York?"

"Stepbrother," he says with a knowing nod. "He lives out here with his boyfriend, and I figured I'd trail along for the ride, y'know? I mean, I work down at the fire station, so I've done alright for myself, but there's always something better. I'm still looking for that."

She purses her lips. "I'm from New Jersey. The suburban kind of New Jersey, nothing too great. I moved out here for college, to pursue singing and whatnot. So far, it's been nothing but discouraging."

"W'do'u mean 'discouraging'? I'm sure you're like... fantastic." Only, he's not, because... well... it's not like she's ever _sang_ for him or anything. He shrugs that off and just moves up a step in line, his eyes still on Rachel.

"I'm more of the latter," she chuckles. "No, but in all seriousness, do you _know_ how hard finding a good gig is? Like, sure, I've been in my share of off-Broadway shows, taught quite the bunch of vocal lessons... but I've never done what I wanted to do, y'know? Have you ever made a goal and then ultimately set your entire life to revolve around it?"

He shakes his head viciously, lips forming a small 'o'. "Uh... no?"

"Well I have," she says. "Perhaps it's why my love life is in the toilet. I mean, making time for nothing but myself and my career was and has been challenging, but I manage."

"And you'd rather have a career than a boyfriend or a husband?"

"_Exactly_," she nods fervently. "I'm glad _someone_ understands."

He nods (but coldly, pretty coldly), and spends the next thirty minutes playing with the stirrer in his coffee while she goes on about her fantasy Broadway playlist.

It's not the best of afternoons.

(But it isn't the worst, either).

* * *

><p>She gives him her number on a random Tuesday, one of the shortest meetings so far. They meet for thirty minutes, listen to Billy ramble on about his ex-girlfriend (or is she his girlfriend again? Finn can't keep up) and her new bedsheets with the shitload of cat hair on them. "And she can <em>not<em> expect me to sleep there!" he rants. "Like... who does she think she is, Madonna?"

Finn slaps his own forehead, and he chuckles when he watches Rachel roll her eyes from across the room. She mouths the word 'mediocre' (so sue him, he's a good lip reader), and he laughs a little too loud this time.

"Anything you'd like to share, Finn?" The director asks him this like he's in freakin' kindergarten again, and he only shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"Uh... no. Nope."

Rachel approaches him as soon as the meeting's over and holds out a hand. "Give me your phone," she commands, and he digs around in his pocket as if he's being timed. "I think it's about time we trade numbers, don't cha think?"

He hands her his phone, murming a small, "Y—yeah, sure, 'course," and she hits the keys with her baby pink manicured nail and grins.

"There you go, Hudson." She hands him back the phone, then pivots on her left foot, turning toward the door. "Use it."

"Hm? What?"

"Use the number," she demands, turning back around in her steps, her hands at her hips like some head bitch in charge or something. He smirks at that because, well, it's kind of _hot_. He shakes that off quickly, nods and tells her he will, and then watches her stomp off.

* * *

><p>Finn: <em>Is this 'using it' enough for you?<em>

Rachel: _Depends. Show me what you've got._

He's watching football in his apartment, his stepbrother Kurt and his boyfriend Blaine on the couch beside him, their hands in each others' laps, those goo-goo eyes they save for only each other (and the ones that make Finn puke, too).

"Sexting?" Kurt asks, wiggling his eyebrows and stretching his neck in attempt to get a view at the screen of Finn's phone.

"As if," Finn snickers. "S'a friend. Y'know, just a friend from the meetings."

"You mean the 'singles' meetings? The ones I signed you up for in hopes you'd meet someone so you'd get off your ass every once in awhile and venture somewhere aside from _my_ apartment?" The emphasis on 'my' makes Finn want to reach over and kick Kurt right in the groin, but he just shrugs.

"Mm, maybe."

"That's great," Kurt says, then directs his view back to the television and away from Finn and his cellphone.

Rachel: _Are you there? You haven't responded._

He chuckles because she's one of _those_ girls, huh? He types quickly.

Finn: _Don't tell me you're the clingy type. Can't dig those._

Rachel: _As if. 'Distant' just so happens to be my middle name._

Finn: _Well that's not good either. You've gotta have a little bit of clinginess sometimes, right?_

Rachel: _'Clinginess' is what caused my last relationship to steer itself right down the drain, so no, won't be taking any chances with that one again._

He sighs, throws his phone onto the recliner opposite the couch and says, "Anyone up for some hot dogs or somethin'?", because avoiding a conversation like _that_ with Rachel would be easier than having one.

It's not like she's really his friend anyway, so he doesn't owe that to her or anything, right?

* * *

><p>He skips the next meeting and sleeps in, the sound of his constantly buzzing phone right under his pillow waking him up at a quarter to noon.<p>

Rachel: _It's my fault isn't it?_

Rachel: _If they were that important to you and I ruined them, I won't go anymore. Besides, like I said, my career is more of my focal point anyway._

Rachel: _An answer would be nicer than none._

Rachel: _Just a 'bye', even_.

He falters for a second, then squeezes his phone in the palm of his right hand, wiping the heel of his left hand on his tired eyelids.

"H—hello?" He's tired and frankly, his day in should've started at like, three thirty instead of at a quarter to twelve, but whatever. He shakes that off, rub his eyes just a bit more and attempts (and fails) to clear his throat in hopes of sounding like he _hadn't_ been napping for like, a century.

"I was worried," she admits.

"So much for 'distant' being your middle name," he chuckles, even though he doesn't mean to.

"I'm sorry!" she shouts, and that's the minute he holds the phone far away from his now-throbbing ear. "It's just... you hadn't responded to any of my text messages, which, yeah, is totally understandable, because again, I'm _not_ clingy, but then you don't show up to the meeting, and, well... it worried me."

"S'not your fault," he says. "I just need some sleep, that's all."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Just... 'oh'," she says, voice low.

He blinks rapidly, presses the phone closer to his ear and says, "Can I go now?"

"Yes," she says, "but you have to promise to call me."

"To call you? What is this... a deal?"

She giggles. "No, silly, it's not a _deal_. It's just... my roommates are more busy with their own lives and work and relationships and whatnot, and I'm just... here. I've got no friends, no family out here. It's really lonely, in all honesty. I'm just asking as a friend."

"A friend?"

"We're friends, aren't we?"

He thinks about it for a minute, and yeah, sure, he's got Kurt and even Blaine (even though the both of them are more than peeved off about Finn living with them), and he's got some buddies down at the station, but he hasn't got a _real_ friend. Not one of those 'let-me-call-him-slash-her-about-my-day-and-tell-them-useless-stuff-only-a-friend-would-find-funny' kind of friends, at least.

So he says, "Yeah, we're friends", and she squeals and tells him 'thought so', and then he laughs, because that's what a friend'd do, right?

* * *

><p>He calls her the moment one of the guys down from the station — Chuck, it is — tells some lame ass story about going too long without sex and its consequences.<p>

"So it's not like, _true_, right?" he asks only because he's intrigued.

Rachel chuckles, then asks him, "Are you mentally challenged? Only a personal with mental incapabilities would believe a penis could actually fall off."

He lowly says, "Sorry", and then tries to hang up.

"Wait!" she calls out. "D—don't hang up."

"Why not?" he asks.

"Well, because... I don't know. I enjoy your company."

"Was that rehearsed?"

"W'do'u mean?"

"Like... you're only being nice to me because you feel you _have_ to?" Yeah, sure, it's a stupid question, but the chick's like a rock. She's pretty big on the whole 'cruel humor' thing, at least around him.

"No," she says, spitting out a laugh. "Trust me, I can be awfully mean given the chance."

"Then why aren't you mean to me?" Another stupid question.

"Because... I don't know. We're... friends?"

She says it as if it's more of a question than an actual answer. Are they friends or are they not? Whatever. "Yeah, we're _friends_,Rachel. Like... best friends."

"Don't push it."

But he does anyway. He buys her a stupid 'Best of Broadway' CD, brings it to her during a coffee 'date' (only, they're never _real_ dates because that'd just be weird, according to Rachel), and tells her it's 'just because'.

She slaps him, then kisses him on both cheeks and says, "That's really nice. You shouldn't have."

"Oh, but I did."

Then she makes him listen to it for forty minutes in New York traffic on the way back to her apartment.

"_Now_ I shouldn't have," he jokes, and she slaps him on the arm. "Hey, there's no rule that says I'm not allowed to be the mean one in this friendship."

"Oh, but there is," she says, hands tight on the steering wheel. "This is how we work: we go on coffee dates — but they're never _really_ dates because that'd just exceed 'weird' — and we listen to each other rant about our horrible jobs. I mean, who knew working at a fire station could result in so many stories about awful sex? Are your co-workers really _all_ that complicated? And vocal lessons? The stories I have from that... oh lord. I told you about Jenny and her tendency to bring me sheet music to rap songs consisting of nothing but alcohol and drug ridden lyrics, yes? Anyway... so, basically, we entertain one another by sharing stories of our boring but not-so-boring lives. And apparently, we buy each other things, is that right? I mean, you bought me a CD, so you _have_ to let me give you something."

He shakes his head, smiling at the rest of her previous words, his top teeth digging into his bottom lip harshly. "N—no, I can't let you spend your money on me."

"But I wouldn't be spending my money," she says. "I've got a bunch of old Journey records lying around, and last week you briefly told me about your Journey phase, so—"

"I was eleven," he interrupts.

"And twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen and—"

"Okay, okay, I'll take 'em."

"I thought you'd never say yes!" she squeals, squeezes his kneecap with her free hand, and then suddenly forgets to lift it off of his leg for the remainder of the car ride.

He doesn't think anything of it. It's just what friends do, probably.

* * *

><p>Finn: <em>Pcik em up please.<em>

Rachel: _You're drunk, aren't you?_

And he knows she's racing over in her car the moment he (drunkenly) texts her a 'yes' and the address of the stupid bar he's forced to be at for Kurt's promotion celebration. He went overboard on the beer, and yeah, that's bad, but Rachel totally solves that the moment she rushes through the doors with two bottles of water, a tug at the collar of his polo shirt and her car keys dangling in front of his eyes.

"You're coming with me," she says. "I'll drop you off at your house and I'll sit vigil by your beside until the moment you wake up with one of those regretful hangovers."

He hugs her before they walk out of the door, and she gets close enough to flick him, tell him not to touch her and pull him by the wrist into her car.

"I meant it," she says.

"The vigil thing?" he asks, his head waning from one side to another, his eyelids closing tightly as he fiddles with his seatbelt.

"That too, but the whole 'don't touch me' thing," she says. "Don't touch me. I don't like hugging. It's intimate, and we're... _not_."

"Mm'k," he says, pressing his lips together. "Can I kiss you?"

"Not a chance. _Ever_."

* * *

><p>She's crying when she calls him one day, then hangs up the phone.<p>

He gets a text ten minutes later, an address to one of the apartment buildings down the street from the little coffee shop they sat down in that one time.

When he walks up the stairs, he gets another text telling him to go to the top floor. He shrugs, slips his phone into his pocket and stupidly asks a sanitation worker roaming the bottom floor how the hell to reach the top floor. He laughs in his face.

But he makes it. He finds this staircase behind some door and he finds the top floor. Well, the roof. Rachel Berry wants him to meet her on a _roof_. He looks around for a bit when he walks up, his eyes roaming the tiny rooftop, then meeting the girl who's laying on the solid concrete, her eyelids shut tight.

"Hi Finn," she says lowly, not bothering to sit up.

"The hell is all of this?"

"My hiding spot," she says, sitting up now, her hands folded in her lap, despite her wearing a dress and all.

"You're all dressed up because...?"

"Because I had an audition," she tells him. "I auditioned for a show, got rejected, got a bagel, got sick to my stomach and threw said bagel up just on the corner of those two streets down there, then came up here."

"And you have access to a rooftop in a building in New York City _how_...?"

"My dad knows some people," she says. "He's a publisher for one of the major book companies around here. Not sure which one, never bothered to ask, quite frankly. Here, sit." She pats the empty space next to her, and he sits (hesitantly, of course, because, well, he's on a freakin' _rooftop_). "Like I said, it's my hiding spot. Whenever I'm in a bad mood or... or I need to just think, I come up here. I've never ever showed it to anyone before, though."

"You're twenty-four years old and you've got a hiding spot?" he chuckles, laying down in the same position she'd been in before. "S'kind of cool, don't get me wrong, but... _why_?"

"Because everyone gets lonely sometimes," she says, eyes squeezing shut. "The world gets kind of harsh and sometimes, I feel like exploding. Today is one of those days."

"Sorry for all of the questions, but, um, why show me? N—not that I've got a problem with it or anything, but..."

"I don't know," she says, shrugging. "Guess I just trust you a lot."

"Really?" he asks, sort of shocked. Why _him_? Whatever. He takes in the city air, his eyes shutting just as hers had, his head laying flat on the concrete roof of the building. "Thanks."

"No," she breathes, "thank _you_."

* * *

><p>A few weeks pass and Finn decides to ditch the whole 'singles meetings' thing in all, because after the rant Rachel spurs on him over coffee one day, he just... <em>can't<em> go back.

"For me, those meetings are more of a ridiculous, money-sucking way of reminding me just why I'm not capable of finding a true relationship, a partner to love me," she says. "I mean, each and every time, I walk out more alone than the time before. The leader likes to sugarcoat love, putting it up on some damn pedestal and trying to show us that if we change, we'll become wanted; someone'll want us. But that isn't the case, is it? I mean, some silly meeting can't make me _really_ want to change myself, can it?"

"Dunno," he says, eyes on the stirrer he's twirling around in his untouched coffee cup.

Her breath becomes hitched, her eyes narrow. "You know what I need?"

"What's that?"

"Sex," she says so openly it almost makes him choke on something that's not even there.

He widens his eyes at just a word simple as that... 'sex'. It's not that he expects her to be some prude, really, but here? Out of all of the times in the world, why now?

"I miss it," she admits. And yeah, he's had a few one-night stands with women down at the fire station more times than he'd like to admit, but it's been awhile, and okay, he could use sex too, but he'd never admit it _out loud_.

"Y—yeah," he says. "I miss it. S'been awhile and stuff."

"Yeah," she says, lips pressed together. "I have an idea."

"An idea? Mm... okay... shoot."

"W'do'u say to us — meaning me and you, of course — having sex? And before you say no, hear me out. I'm not asking you on a date, and I'm certainly not asking you for some sort of commitment of any sorts. Just... sex."

He lifts a brow and lets go of the stirrer he's playing with, his stomach sinking (for whatever reason). "Just sex?"

"Yes," she nods. "Just sex. None of that romance sort of stuff, no dates, no need for a phone call after. Like I said: just sex."

"And it'd be the two of us?"

"No, Finn," she spits sarcastically. "W'do'u say to asking your gay stepbrother and his boyfriend to join along? Kurt and Blaine, is it? I mean, it's not too late, but..."

He stands up, reaches across the table, and flicks her on the forearm.

"What was that for?" she asks, tugging the sleeve of her jacket down.

"Just felt like it," he says. "So when does it... y'know... _start_?"

She wiggles her eyebrows, whispering, "Whenever you'd like."

They leave the coffee shop in her car, kiss all the way upstairs to her apartment, and end up on the couch in her living room with their clothes tossed aside. And yeah, sure, it's totally awkward kissing someone he considers like, his _best friend_, but the moment his hands tangle through locks of her hair, her hot lips on his neck, he forgets. She just becomes someone he's having sex with, and really, it's kind of... _hot_. He forgets Rachel Berry, the best friend, and meets Rachel Berry, the sex partner.

Please, what are 'singles meetings' anyway?

* * *

><p>They're on her bed, Rachel's breasts brushing up against his bare chest as she plunges down onto him, her lips grazing his neck. "Mm, don't move," she commands, letting her hands slide down to his middle, gripping forcefully. "Mm, that okay?"<p>

He nods, because, _hell yes_, it's 'okay'. After a moment, she sits up so she's straddling him, and then he jolts his head up too, asking, "Why'd you stop?"

"I'm tired," she admits, wiping at her worn eyes, the bags underneath them a little more defiant than he'd ever seen them. "I mean, really, you're wonderful and much more understanding than I first had imagined, but I'm literally drained. I'm forcing myself to go down on you because honestly, I'm afraid of disappointing you."

"_You're_ afraid of disappointing _me_?" He narrows his eyes and brings his hand sympathetically to the small of her back. "Rach, c'mon, stop. You're a beautiful girl who's letting me have sex with her in her bed without all of like, the romance and crap. What more could I ask for?"

She rolls off of him so she's on the bed, her legs folded underneath her. She reaches over to her nightstand, pressing 'play' on her iPod dock and throwing her hands up the second a Journey song comes on. "Your favorite," she says. "'_Open Arms_'. Your mom played this for you on the anniversary of your dad's death every year."

He sits up a bit on the bed, his hands falling onto his lap. "You pay _way_ too much attention to everything I say," he teases. "Y'know, half of the stuff I say during sex is random."

"But it isn't," she laughs, grabbing her shirt from off of her dresser and slipping it on, no bra underneath.

"Yeah, but it's stupid," he says, shaking his head and scrunching his nose. "You're much more interesting of a person than I am."

"Fine, we're both equally interesting," she says like she doesn't want to, jaw tight, her hands fiddling with the end of her shirt. "You're my best friend; of course I find you interesting."

He's not sure why she looks down on that one, but he hopes to God she means it, because it'd totally _suck_ if she didn't. He says, "Y—yeah, you're my best friend too", and doesn't even flinch when she walks over and kisses him on the nose.

"_That_," she says, "wasn't romantic. It doesn't count. _That_ was just a friendship gesture."

He shrugs and then watches her skip back over to her dresser drawers, digging through for a pair of pants like nothing ever happened, an innocent hum to her voice.

"Hey, Rach?"

"Hm?" she answers, not even looking up.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Finn."

* * *

><p>He calls her after they have sex for the fourth time. He's right outside of her apartment, his hands in his pockets as he lets out an elongated huff into the midnight air. <em>Please pick up,<em> he thinks to himself (even though he's go no idea why — she specified he didn't have to call).

And she does. "Finn, you don't have to call."

"I know, but I just wanted to say uh... good job."

"'Good job'?"

"Y—yeah, y'know, on the sex."

"I knew what you were referring to, yes, but _why_?"

"Because you did good."

"I did _good_?"

Yeah, so, he awards himself for the biggest asshole when it comes to forming a sentence, but, hey, what can he do? He walks all the way down to the end of the block, unable to say anything, his phone still on his ear. Then he asks, "C—can you just... can you come down?"

"Come downstairs?"

"Yes. Yes, come downstairs."

She grunts, but he hears the sound of her keys dangling and knows she's probably walking over to her counter right now (no, he's not a stalker, he's just like, attentive and stuff).

"You're coming outside, aren't you?"

"Maybe." She speaks lowly and sounds like she's more annoyed than anything, but two minutes later she's outside of her apartment building, on the steps in just a tied robe with her hair in a messy bun, two mismatched slippers on her feet.

He walks up to her slowly, hands in his pockets, his breath hitched. He brings one hand to her forearm, then waits until she shrugs it off and pushes him away to let go. "Can we talk?"

"I assume that's why you called me down here at midnight, so, yes."

He closes his eyes for a minute, inhales a bit and asks her, "Do you like this? Y'know, the whole 'casual sex' thing?"

"It was my idea," she says, "so yes, I do." Then she closes her eyes too, and asks (more like _assumes_, but whatever, what does he know?), "You don't like it, do you? Like... the casualty of it all."

He shakes his head with pressed lips. "It's not that I don't. I just... I never took you to be one of those girls, y'know? I pictured you more of like, one of those girls with those fantasies of like, falling in love and finding a prince charming and crap. Not a 'bang it and go' kind of girl."

She chuckles, then punches him in the forearm. "'_Bang it and go_'?"

"Just tryin' to be funny," he says. "And... and _failing_. Sorry."

"No worries," she says. "Hey, you know, next time we should try this at your apartment. It's been my apartment for four nights now, and, well, I feel a little bad, to be honest."

He nods, then asks, "But why?" It's only because he's afraid of her saying that she's like, way too high-class to have some asshole come around her apartment just for sex or something. He gulps at that thought, then shoves his hands even further back into his pockets than before, shuffling the heel of his foot back and forth on the ground.

"Because I've got two roommates with boyfriends — well, one of 'em has a fianceé, but still — and they're around sometimes, and, well... I'd rather not introduce you to them. It's sort of embarrassing knowing how perfect their loves life are and then throwing mine onto the table. I mean, mine? It's non-existant, really. You hardly count, and—"

"Hey, hey, hey, but we're friends," he says. And yeah, they're _totally_ friends. "We promised we wouldn't let this sex shit come between us, remember?"

She closes her eyes, then says, "Um, no. No I don't."

"Before we had sex the first time. Well, after we had sex the first time. Y'know, when we were putting on our pants and stuff."

She blushes (just enough for him to see outside at midnight, at least). "Yeah, I remember now," she giggles, tongue between her teeth. She lifts the heel of her hand up to her eyes then, wiping at them for a minute before letting out a yawn. "Hey, y'know, I'm tired."

"S'my fault, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, well, y'know..." she trails off, folding her arms underneath her chest. "Anyway, again, I'm really tired, you're probably tired... I'm gonna head in now. Get home safe, okay?"

He nods. "Yeah, sure, okay."

She turns on her heel, starts to walk, then turns back, tugging down on her lip with a look a little too intimate for either of their likings.

He debates letting her like, kiss him at all. He sighs, his chest rising, and then digs around in his pocket a bit, bringing his phone into his view for a moment, pretending to look at it to wipe away most of the awkwardness that's surfing from the minute Rachel turned back around to him.

"Were you just gonna stand there all night?" she asks, eyebrows risen.

"Just makin' sure you got inside safely."

"I don't need a babysitter," she says jokingly, nudging him in the side. "I was just gonna say 'see you tomorrow' or something. I dunno. Just... goodbye. I hate not saying goodbye or anything, it's so... informal."

"So is _this_," he tells her, arms spread open wide. She shakes her head at that, and yeah, sure, he may be an annoyance or whatever, but she can't forever call him wrong or anything, right? "This _sex_ thing, it's so... informal. It's like: we screw around for a bit, you offer me dinner, I always object, you suck on my neck when I slip on my clothes and my shoes, then I practically trip out of the door, and then I go. We don't call each other after, we don't speak of it the next day when we're all like, 'buddy buddy'. It's just... sex."

"That was the deal, remember?"

And she trails off. Not a 'see you tomorrow' or a 'goodbye' or anything.

That stings, and yeah, part of the deal was that it really wasn't supposed to, but call him a rule breaker or whatever, because it _does_.

* * *

><p>She goes down on him the moment they enter his apartment, her tongue prying around his middle as she manages to let out a couple of elongated moans.<p>

"T—there," he says, breath cut short as he tangles his hands through strands of her hair. "Mm, I love this."

Even fiercer than before, she brings herself up, whisks her tongue around his lips as she looks for entry and then says, "Yeah, me too."

The sex is hot that night. Almost too hot, maybe. They go fast and they're done before they really even begin, but Rachel says it's supposed to be that way. It's meaningless sex between two friends who _agreed_ it'd be meaningless. She's standing up slipping her jeans back on, a little smirk gracing her lips.

He's still on the couch, his pants now on, his shirt dangling off his shoulders. He waves her over. "C'mere," he says, one hand in the air.

She obeys, trailing over to the couch and standing in between his legs. "I'm tired," she tells him.

"I'm sure," he says, swallowing hard. "Just... c'mere."

"I'm _here_," she laughs, resting both of her hands flat on his knees. She leans into him before he even has a chance to explain himself (it's good on his part, he's really horrible with words and stuff), her lips grazing his. They lock lips once, but then she presses her mouth back to his once more, letting her tongue find entry between his pushed-together lips. "Mm, Finn, let's stop. S'not supposed to be romantic, remember?"

He shakes his head, then tilts her chin up and kisses her softly. It's more romantic than it should be, yeah, but whatever, he knows she won't take it that way. She tastes like the Chinese food they just ran out and got before, like broccoli and fried rice and sesame seeded chicken. Most of all, though, she tastes like Rachel. She's got this taste to her, and every time his lips get stuck to hers, he just... knows. He's not so sure if that's allowed, all of those feelings, but he feels too stupid asking her, so he doesn't. He just kisses her a few more times, his lips almost sore by the time their tongues swerve around each other for like, the hundredth time.

She's in his lap now, his hand taking a squeeze at her bottom, a little yelp being let out every single time he nips at her lip.

"Finn!" Only it's not Rachel. It's his stepbrother and his stepbrother's boyfriend hand-in-hand in the doorway, a little yelp coming from _their_ mouths. Finn quickly pushes Rachel off of his lap, lifting his hand from off of her ass and folding it with the other, placing them both in his lap.

"She... she was leaving," he says, cheeks burning red. He's not so sure how much they saw or anything, but he's practically shitting himself when they both throw him the 'who-is-she-and-how-many-times-did-you-fuck-her?' look.

"I was," she nods. "Finn and I were just finishing up. Now, I'm sure you two would have rather _not_ have witnessed anything, but... well... what can you do? Oh well! Goodnight, you two! By the way, you really do make a very lovely couple. Finn was right when he said he'd want gay marriage to be legal just for the both of your sakes. Anyway... goodnight! I... I should go."

No 'goodnight' or a 'see you tomorrow' or anything, but Rachel _does_ send him a text two minutes later.

Rachel: _Let him tell you how much he saw. Then lie and say you were practicing for lifeguard training. You know, CPR and things. Goodnight! xo_

'Xo'? He disregards that, but only because he thinks that's like, the 'friend' side of her or whatever, not the sexy side. He sighs, falls back into the couch and asks both Blaine and Kurt, "W—what would you two say if I told you I'd been studying to be a lifeguard in my spare time?"

* * *

><p>Finn: <em>Up for round two? We've gotta continue last night sometime, don't we?<em>

Rachel: _Not in the mood, on my period. _

He shows up at her apartment door two hours later, and a Latina, probably around five-and-a-half-feet with one of those permanent snarky looks (_definitely_ not his taste, if he had a taste of course) opens it up, her eyes widening at the sight of the bouquet of flowers he's holding. "Well, Britt's engaged and Noah and I have taken our acts of frequent sexual intercourse and've started to use the terms 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' in reference to each other, so you're _definitely _not here for— wait... _Rachel_!"

Rachel comes to the door, her hair tied back, two loose pieces in the front, an oversized t-shirt dwarfing her body. "I've got it Santana," she says, pushing past the girl and waving for Finn to come in, being more than certain to include her legendary grunt in as he steps foot through the doorway and onto the mat behind it. "Flowers? Really?"

He shrugs, his nose scrunched. "Um... yeah. S'why I'm holding 'em."

She takes them quickly (even though, yeah, she _totally_ acts like he's handing her a bomb or something), and plops herself down on the couch. "Sit," she says quietly, tapping the empty spot next to her.

He does, biting down on his cheek and folding his hands in his lap, ever-so-often looking to the way she sets the flowers down in her lap, holding onto them with one hand no matter which way she shifts her body.

"Um... thank you," she says after a moment of pure silence. "For the flowers, I mean."

"Oh!" he says, head jolting up. "Yeah, no problem. D—do you like roses, or...?

"I don't," she says, cheeks red, tongue between her teeth as she stops herself from chuckling. "Lilies are my favorite, but I appreciate the effort."

When he says nothing, she leans into his side, letting out a sigh. He doesn't stop her, but he doesn't touch her either. He keeps his hands folded in his lap, because that'd be the _right_ thing to do. It's not intimate, it's not romantic, and they don't want any of that stuff, right? Perfect.

"Hey, Finn?"

"Hm?" he says, lips together, not tearing his gaze away from the little mole on the bend of her thumb that happens to distract him from everything else in the moment.

"Y—you know, you can stay if you want to."

He nods. "I want to."

And he does. She makes him carry her into her bedroom (it's the period cramps, they make people lazy, she says), and he throws her onto her bed, sits in the armchair beside it and lets her blast the entire _Wicked_ soundtrack from her iPod dock without a single complaint.

She leans back into her headboard, her legs folded, a sigh when her back hits the pillowcase she's rested up on. "You know, you don't have to stay."

He stands up from the armchair, gulps a bit, and then makes his way over to her bed, sitting down at the foot of it. "I said 'I want to', which, in my book means... well... I want to. Rach, really, I wanna stay. You're not feeling well, and the least I could do is hang around for a lil' bit, y'know?"

"You're not my boyfriend," she says almost too harshly for his taste, her arms crossed underneath her chest. "Wait, no, that was mean." And then she stretches her body over until she's got a hand on his knee, rubs it up and down for a few minutes and then blushes.

"Rachel..." He doesn't want her to feel sorry for him. Yeah, they're not dating, of course, but she shouldn't have to feel sorry for acknowledging it. He should've said no to begin with; no to staying with her for the night or anything 'couple-like'.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, leaning into him even more, her side grazing his thigh. Her body is like, warm. Yeah, that sounds weird and all, but it feels good, having someone next to him. The last time he had a steady girlfriend was in _high school_, and this? This is realer. Yeah, like the both of them acknowledge more than they should, they're definitely _not_ boyfriend and girlfriend or anything, but they _are_ best friends, and last time he checked, there was no rule that said best friends couldn't make each other feel this way. He turns around so he can wrap his arms around her, taking her by surprise with a hug.

She lifts a brow, still in his arms. "What was that for?" she chuckles, eyes closed with her head leaned back.

"Dunno," he admits, letting go of her and smoothing out the fabric on his jeans as he sits still on the end of her bed. "Anyway, you look tired. Are you... are you tired?"

She nods, an overdramatic yawn coming from her mouth shortly after. "Is that yawn believable enough?" she asks. "I'm tired. _Really_ tired. I should sleep, and you should go."

"I'll go," he says. "Once you fall asleep."

She bats her lashes twice, probably too tired to object, because she falls flat onto her pillow, letting her head sink down. Only a small 'mmm' escapes her lips, and then she shuts her eyes and she's like, out.

He sits beside her, fiddling with his thumbs out of boredom as he tries to get comfortable in the tiny spot on the bed she's _not_ sleeping on. "Hey, Rach..." he starts to whisper, but then trails off once he remembers the time she told him what a heavy sleeper she'd always been. "Never mind." And he smooths out the covers on her bed just because, then lifts a hand to her abdomen, his eyes shutting as he feels her exhaling on his hand — in and out, in and out.

A few minutes pass and she sits up, her eyes still shut. She murmurs a half-awake, "Finny", and then pulls her arm around him.

He tries to leave once she falls asleep again, but he looks to her arm and then realizes it: he just can't.

* * *

><p>"We were <em>spooning<em>!" She's yelling, and he's quick to blame it on all of the period hormones or whatever, but she tries to hit him when he tells her so, her body lunging forward as she attempts to pull her by the wrist. "_Spooning_, Finn! We were in clothes. Fully _clothed_!"

He presses his palm into his forehead, sighing, his head leaning back into her headboard. Why does she have to make things so complicated? Why does she let her insanity take the best of her and turn everything into _this_? "You know," he starts, "maybe you were right." He notices her eyes narrow, her breath hitch, but he continues on. "Maybe you were right about everything you said. Y'know, about being 'emotionally unavailable'. Rachel, you're definitely emotionally unavailable. Beyond it, even. But the only person making yourself emotionally unavailable is _you_. You cause it every time. I see it, Rachel! You... you push people away."

She reaches out to try and give him a slap again, but he tugs onto her wrist and pulls her down onto the bed. She falls in his lap, and yeah, she's like, _fuming_ over that, but whatever. She calms down once she realizes she's in his lap and there's no way he's letting her get out without a word. She shuts her eyes, gets less and less tense and mumbles, "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"So _what_ if we were spooning?" he goes on. "Rachel, you can't give me the title of your 'best friend' and just swipe it away because you're mad we fell asleep _clothed_. C'mon."

"I'm... I'm _not_," she says defensively. "And for the record, you _are_ my best friend, Finn."

He nods, then stares down at her. Her hair is still as messy (maybe messier, he doesn't really know nor care) as the night before, her shirt shrugging off her shoulders to show one of the straps of her baby blue bra. She's a wreck, but she knows he doesn't give a damn, or else she wouldn't have asked him to say. He curses himself for being so bad with words, or else he'd _totally_ try and tell her. Instead he says, "Then as your best friend, listen to me, Rachel. What I told you before, it wasn't intended to be like... mean."

"I know," she nods.

"But it's the truth. Y—you push people away, Rach."

"I know," she nods again. "And I don't want you to have to feel that way any longer. Which is why I'm calling it off."

"Calling _what_ off?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

She averts her gaze to her own lap, twitching with her thumbs. "The sex," she says, almost like she doesn't want to. "I mean, you and I shouldn't do this anymore. I knew it'd happen, too, dammit!"

"Who are you yelling at?"

She shakes her head, her eyes filled with fury, her top lip sagging over the bottom in a pout. It looks as if she's about to like, burst into tears and have one of those infamous bitch fits she told him she used to throw every once in awhile back in high school to get attention when she lacked it the most. He doesn't know why or _how_ he remembers all of these little tidbits of stories she tells him, but he does. Anyway, that's not really the point (even though it's kind of odd, but... whatever, they're friends), so he lets his hand run up the small of her back and rests it there for a minute.

"Finn, we're friends. _Best_ friends. The two of us, we've got something special; something I don't want — no, can't _afford_ to lose." She averts her gaze to him for only a moment, and he can tell she's trying hard not to be sympathetic and stuff, her index finger wiping underneath her dry eyelid. "Besides," she goes on, "maybe it's time we date."

"_Date_?"

"You know, stop fooling around like... like _children_," she replies, and the room goes quiet. "Finn, if I'd like to keep you as a best friend — and trust me, I do — I'd rather stop this while I can. Before, y'know, things get more serious than they should. We agreed there'd be a zero percent romantic aspect to all of this, and, well, I think your spending the night kind of proved that it _can_ go there. It won't, but it certainly can. I... I don't want it to go there."

"Yeah, neither do I," he lies.

Then he gulps, leaves her room and feels his stomach drop when he realizes he'll probably never get any of that back. Sure, he kept a best friend, but he let the chance of having anything more slip away.

(And yeah, he _totally_ broke the rules there, whatever).

* * *

><p>He calls her on a random Saturday morning, right after he's done at the gym, a soaked towel draped across his shoulder. He's still in the locker room, slipping out of his mesh shorts and into his jeans, throwing his polo shirt on quickly.<p>

"Hey, Rach." She picks up on the first ring, and yeah, that's unlikely of her (she goes on a shpeel about how she never likes to answer on the first ring to give the impression she just waits by her phone aimlessly all day long more often than not), but he goes with it. "You busy?"

"Um... no," she says, mouthful, probably grabbing breakfast or something. "Brittany — one of the girls that lives with me, y'know, the blonde one — has me running around looking for a bridesmaid dress for her wedding to her fianceé Artie, so I woke up at six, turned on the news, worked out on my elliptical to the entire _Wicked _soundtrack twice and now I'm eating a bagel. That isn't too 'busy', is it?"

He snickers. "For you, probably not. For me? Definitely. H—hey, you wanna go out today?"

"_Finn_."

"N—not on a date!" he proclaims. "Y'know, a 'best friend' sort of outing."

"You know, you don't always have to call 'em that," she says. "We're best friends, we hang out. I got that much. Now, w'do'u wanna do? Last time I checked, you had work at around... three thirty, didn't you?"

"You memorize my schedule?" he asks, and kind of blushes. It's kind of cool that he's got a friend who knows him like, _that_ much. Yeah, sure, he's the one who tells her everything, but it's her who does all of the remembering. Whatever, it's kind of impressive (and it makes him feel good, too).

"I—I can't," she mutters, quickly changing the subject. "Go out with you, I mean. I'm busy. Like I said, Quinn's got me down for a fitting until five, and then—"

"And then you can go out? At five?" Maybe he sounds just a _little_ too hopeful. Whatever.

"I have a date." The words hurt to hear, but they shouldn't. Like Rachel never fails to remind him: He. Isn't. Her. Boyfriend. So he gulps, holds the phone closer to his ear and listens to her say, "His name is none of your business, but since you weren't too nosy about it, his name is Jimmy, he works down at the dance studio. You know, the same studio I taught vocal lessons at before I started teaching them at home. He's twenty-five, has his own apartment, is close with his mother — family is very important to me, you know that — and he's got a sick love for the arts. Any questions?"

"No ma'am," he says.

"Good. I'll be going now."

"Good luck on you date with Mr. Prissy Pants. Throw the _Wicked_ soundtrack at him for me."

"Defensive best friend?"

"Always."

* * *

><p>Finn: <em>How's Mr. Broadway treating you?<em>

Rachel: _Good. More than good, really. We saw 'In The Heights', then he bought me a t-shirt, then a pretzel, and then we took a stroll through Central Park._

Finn: _Gag_.

Rachel: _You're just jealous._

He can't form a proper response, so he just... doesn't.

Rachel: _I was kidding. I know you're not jealous._

Rachel: _Finn?_

He rolls over on his pillow, then turns his phone off for a little while, breathing a sign of relief as soon as the screen goes black.

He reminds himself to delete all of those texts in the morning.

* * *

><p>"Have you had sex?" he asks her out of random, turning around and chuckling at the way she stands on her tiptoes to reach the microwave in her own kitchen.<p>

She looks down to the floor, scans it a bit, and then walks over to the table, placing her heated mug down and flicking him on the wrist. "Finn! It's not my fault I'm five-foot-two and Britt and Santana decided to anchor the microwave all the way up to Narnia."

"Narnia's like... a closet, not a shelf."

"Not my point!" she screeches, sitting down at the table, her legs crossed.

"Not mine either," he says, tapping his fingers onto the tabletop a few times, letting his eyes scan the mug she's drinking out of, noticing it's got a name of one of those musicals she told him about awhile back. "New mug?"

"Do you like it?" She lifts it down, turning it around and running her index over the printed font on the front. "Jimmy took me to see '_How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying'_, and I loved it so much that he just _had_ to buy me this mug. Isn't it cute?"

He nods as if he's being forced, then speaks through gritted teeth, saying, "Y—yeah, it's _cute_. Anyway, can you answer my question now?"

She pauses like she's forgotten, lifts her hands up and cracks her knuckles and then says, "No, we haven't had sex, and _no_, when the time comes where I feel I'm ready to have sex with Jimmy — and _only_ with Jimmy — you won't even know."

"But _c'mon_," he pleas, "I'm your best friend."

She flicks him in the arm, giggling, her tongue pressed against her cheek. "So just... be happy for me, Finn. Be happy that I'm happy."

He tries, but that wears off like, two minutes later.

* * *

><p>"F—Finn, c—can we t—talk?" Before he says anything, he knows she's in hysterics, and yeah, sure, he's probably good at calming her down (he's great with Kurt throughout those drastic 'let's-make-the-world-cry-because-of-all-of-the-African-orphans' Oprah episodes), but he's not so sure he <em>wants<em> to.

"Can't you call _Jimmy_ about this?"

"T—there is no Jimmy, not anymore, anyway." She sighs deeply, and it kind of stings like a bitch just to hear her so upset and stuff. "Finn, do you ever regret making a move _so_ much? Like, do you ever wish you would've never tried something out because it was bound to fail and even _you_ knew it was bound to fail but... but you did it anyway?"

"Rach," he breathes, "you had no idea about Jimmy."

"But I should have."

"But you didn't," he replies earnestly. And it's true, she didn't. (Even though, yeah, Finn kind of sort of hated him from the start). "Rachel, don't let this douchebag bring you down. I mean, you're bound to find someone else, right? Someone like... not Jimmy?"

She laughs for a moment at that, but then goes back to being all pouty and stuff, telling Finn, "No, no I won't. Jimmy was... he was _perfect_. Or, at least, I thought he was. He took me out to dinner, discussed every single Broadway show in _history_ with me for hours on end..." she trails off and he sighs, because, well, how the hell is that 'perfect'?

"Was he your friend?" He bets five bucks the thought of her and this asshole being friends never crossed her mind once.

"N—no," she admits more lightly than he'd first imagined. "We weren't friends at all. I hardly called him my boyfriend. W—we were just dating, that's all."

"Yeah, well, not so sure why the asshole dumped you," he says. "H—hey, did you... y'know... have—"

"Yes," she says, her voice cracking. "We had sex last night. I woke up this morning with a single text and an empty bed. It was over before it really began, and now I feel like absolute _shit_ and... and my heart hurts. It literally hurts just thinking about it."

He only says 'mhm', because, really, he can think of like, tons of things that hurt more.

And he guesses she can too. "But y'know what hurts more?"

"Hm?"

"You," she says. "I... I let you slip away."

"I'm still your friend, Rach," he says, his own heart like, sinking in his chest. He doesn't know why it feels like that, but it does. It freakin' _stings_.

"Hey, Finn?" She's clearly looking to get off topic again, and yeah, he can imagine she'd be kind of embarrassed by her own confession or whatever, but he's just _Finn_. He doesn't bite or anything. "You know how I said I wasn't into it all — passion, romance, relationships? Well, I am. Too much, maybe."

"Thought so." He smirks, then tugs down on his lip at that, because, yeah, he _totally_ knew.

"I'm into it so much that I judge everything. Nothing's good enough for me. And then? Then I start to believe that _I'm_ not good enough for anyone else." She sighs, and then he sighs, because he knows this. He's tried to _tell her_ this before. "Finn, I'm not worthy of ever being loved. I'm crazy, insanely so. I've got some idea that someday I'll get this epitome of fairytale love; someone who'd be with me regardless of... well... _me_. I'm different, Finn. I—I'd rather sit at home on a Friday night and read a book than go out to a club and party. My favorite Disney movies are the kinds where the princesses fall in love with the princes and ride off into the sunset on a horse in carriage because they're _finally_ getting their happy ending. My last name is the same name as fruit. People _hate_ fruit. I wish I could take a hint when I watch my roommates Brittany and Santana with their men, planning weddings and mentioning things about babies. But I can't. Instead, I attend these stupid 'singles meetings' down at the rec center in hopes of finding someone who'll put up with my crazy. But do I ever? Not a chance. I mean, come on, the _rec center_? Am I _insane_? Well, yeah, I'm kind of insane, but... What was I _thinking_? Everyone at those meetings has got the same problems. They're... they're damaged. They're incapable of maintaining relationships without freaking out about silly little things. I mean, I don't even know how _you_ put up with me. Calling me your best friend must be a struggle, I can see why—"

"I think you forgot to mention 'dramatic'," he interrupts with a chuckle. "You called yourself crazy and insane, but not dramatic. You're being too harsh on yourself, Rach. And by the way, calling you my best friend is like, the easiest thing _ever_."

She pauses, then says, "Y—you think so?"

"I _know_ so."

He can practically like, _feel_ her smile on the other end of the phone. He likes that, knowing he makes her smile or whatever.

"Hey, Rach? Do I have your permission to throw all of the _Wicked_ CD's in the world at that douchebag?"

"Go for it."

* * *

><p>Rachel: <em>Could we ever fall in love?<em>

Finn: _Are you drunk?_

Rachel: _Never. Alcohol is an emotionally draining substance. Just answer the question._

Finn: _No_.

Rachel: _'No' that we could never fall in love or 'no' that you won't answer the question?_

Finn: _Both._

He promises himself he'll stamp the word 'denial' on his forehead in the morning, but like, this is _way_ too complicated to elaborate through text messaging. When (and if, _if_ is the key word) he does it, it has to be done right.

(But, it probably won't be done, because frankly, he's too '_emotionally damaged_' to do anything about it).

* * *

><p>AN: This is _way_ too long to be just a simple one-shot. My apologizes. Read on, if you will. If you don't, well... I'm glad you made it this far!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: And... onto part two! Again: I hope you enjoy this as much as you enjoyed part one (if you actually _did_ enjoy part one, that is).

* * *

><p>He doesn't know how he gets her to agree, but she tells him she's just got a few more calls to make to the kids' parents she gives vocal lessons to throughout the week, and then she's bringing her luggage on over to his place and going to the airport with him. "I have nowhere else to go," she says. "And, well, it <em>is<em> Fourth of July weekend, after all, so I figured 'why not'?"

"G—good," he says, holding the phone up to his ear using his shoulder, zipping the last of the luggage up, crouching down by his bed. "I told my mom I'd be bringing my best friend home with me, so..."

"So you're _positive_ she and your stepdad won't mind my company?" She worries too much.

"N—not at all," he says. "My stepdad, he's been pretty sick lately and stuff, so the company'll be pretty good for him. He knows you're my best friend, Kurt told him."

"Well I think that's _lovely_," she says. "Your family really is nice for letting me stay with them and all. I appreciate it, believe me."

He presses his lips together, pats his suitcase with his fist once and says, "Thanks for comin' with me. Y'know, even though we haven't left yet, just... thanks."

"Finn, you're my best friend. You invited me to go to Ohio with you and your family for the Fourth of July. How in the world could I object?"

"Dunno," he says, shifting his eyes a bit as he looks around the room. With a sigh, he grabs his suitcase by the handle, makes his way into the living room and says, "I—I better go. Meet you in twenty, okay?"

"It sounds like a date," she chuckles. "W—wait, I didn't mean it that way. See you in twenty, Finn."

"Y—yeah, it's a date."

He must've missed the first part. Oh well.

* * *

><p>The plane lands in Ohio, and yeah, they're a little sleepy, but Finn, Kurt, Blaine and Rachel run into the doorway, Rachel a little more hesitant than the others, her body behind Finn's the entire time.<p>

"Blaine, Kurt!" His mom's always the bubbly lady, her short auburn-grey hair hanging right at her shoulders, a denim jacket on even in July. She runs her hands through both Blaine and Kurt's hair when she hugs them, her cheeks red and her excitement glowing right through every ounce of skin. Finn likes seeing her like that, and honestly, she's like, the happiest, most gracious person he knows. She's really family-oriented and stuff, and as much as he forgets to bring up his mom in general conversation, he loves her — a lot.

"Mom?" Finn tilts his head and grabs onto her shoulder, and automatically, a smile stretches across her face. It's a _real_ smile, though, like one of those, 'I-may-just-be-the-happiest-mom-on-earth-because-I'm-seeing-you-for-the-first-time-in-forever-since-you-decided-to-ditch-me-out-here-in-cowtown-for-New-York' smiles. He feels Rachel's side brush against his arm, then turns back to see her half-smiling, her teeth scraping against her bottom lip. "Mom, hi! Th—this is Rachel. Rachel Berry. She and I are good friends, and I told you I'd bring her about a week back, so again, thank you, and... and I hope this is alright, y'know, with you and dad."

"Finn, sweetheart, any friend of yours is a friend of ours," she says. "As long as you're not bringing back that sour puss Quinn Fabray with her idea of marrying you and making you nothin' but a trophy husband, anyone you bring home is welcome to stay." She winks, and then he watches how Rachel tenses, because, well, Finn's hardly ever mentioned anything about Quinn before, and he's pretty sure now's not a good time to start.

He tugs down on his lip. "This is Carole, my mom, Rach." Rachel nods, smiling at Carole. "Uh, mom, Rachel can stay in the guest room, r—right?"

She nods. "'Course. I've already made up the bed and everything. Rachel, you don't mind, right? I asked Finn if he'd like you to stay in his room, but that was only until I was under the impression you were his girlfriend. Speaking of which: Finn, are you _ever_ going to get a girlfriend, or...?"

Rachel practically like, snorts, then leans into his mom. "It'd be a miracle, Mrs. Huds—"

"Please, sweetie," his mom interrupts, "call me Carole."

"_Carole_, it'd be a miracle. Finn's a ladies' man — maybe too much of one — but I can never see him settling down."

What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? He grabs Rachel on the forearm and hisses. "You, me, my room."

"Certainly," Rachel answers with a teasing wink. "I was only kidding." He tugs on her arm even more, and all she can do is look back and shout, "Thank you again, Carole! Your home is lovely!"

He closes the door harshly, and she winces. "What was all of that for, huh? My mom's gonna think I'm like... some asshole."

"But you _aren't_," she says. "I was just joking around, Finn. Your mom knows what a good guy you are, I'm sure of it."

"Doubt it," he answers, complete with an eye roll and all. "Don't cover up your own intimacy issues by making me look like a jerk, please, Rach."

"Look," she says, making her way to the edge of his bed, her hands in her lap, "you're right. I cover up my own insecurities by pointing out everyone else's, I know. But, Finn, you must know you're a good guy, right? One of the best, actually. I—I couldn't have chosen a better best friend."

He joins her on the bed, his gaze falling to the floor, one hand magically finding its way onto her unsteady kneecap. "Me too," he says. "And hey, I'm glad it's you here with me for the week. Y'know, at my house. I've never brought a girl home to my family before."

"Not a single girlfriend?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Not one. Maybe it's 'cos they all sucked or something, I don't know. None of them were... you know... _you_."

She sighs, then takes one hand and runs it through her hair, smiling shyly. "How am I different?"

"Is this another 'Rachel Berry ego boost' session, or...?" he teases jokingly, lifting his hand off of her knee and placing it on his own. "I'm just kiddin'. You're just... you're _Rachel_. I love Rachel."

"Rachel loves Finn too," she giggles. "I meant it when I said you were my best friend." She nuzzles her nose to his shoulder then, smiling, her lips closed.

"Can I ask you somethin', then? Y'know, if you love me and all..."

She nods lazily. "Mm, 'course."

"Was it any different for you when it stopped? Y'know, the sex." His heart pounds, because yeah, it's a pretty stupid question, but he can't _not_ ask. It's been bugging him _way_ too much lately. It's not that he's asking for it, really, and it's not that he misses it, either. He's just... curious.

She raises a brow. "Our friendship? No. You know why? Because the 'sex' wasn't real sex. Trust me, it couldn't have been. Yes, we can both sit here and argue all day that it was truly sex, because yeah, it _was_ sex, but it wasn't real. It lacked a romantic aspect, any emotional foundation. We were both sleeping together just for the heck of it; it never really meant anything."

"Rachel," he says evenly, "c'mon, you wanted that. _We_ wanted that. We like, agreed to it."

"Yeah, I know," she says, lips pressed together. "I wasn't complaining, simply stating."

"Oh."

"Yeah, '_oh_'," she mocks, teasingly swatting him on the forearm. "Hey, Finn?"

"Mhm?"

"I'm tired. I'm gonna sleep, okay?"

He nods, forgetting he's got his own room here for a minute, and she's all the way down the hall in the guest room. Shit. "Mm'k. Sleep tight."

She lifts herself off of his bed, letting out a groan as she gets up. "Trust me, I will. 'Night."

And she leaves.

* * *

><p>He knows texting in the same room is kind of lame, and yeah, he'll admit to complaining every time Blaine and Kurt do it back at home, but texting in the same house can't be like, <em>too<em> horrible, right?

He tosses over on his side, looks at his alarm clock, which reads 1:03 AM, and then turns back over, grabbing his phone from its spot underneath his pillow.

Finn: _You awake?_

Rachel: _You're seriously texting me? I'm right down the hall._

Finn: _Oh, right, sorry._

He shuts his phone quickly, then tiptoes on over to the guest room, more than careful not to wake Blaine or Kurt or his mom or his stepdad.

"Hey," he says in a whisper, opening the door, trying to prevent it from squeaking.

She does a little head nod and he smiles (sue him, it's kind of cute), stepping over to the edge of the bed, his palms pressing into the comforter.

"You comfy?" he asks, and she only nods, lips pursed. He swallows. "So, uh... I think my mom really likes you. I could tell because she was like, _super_ happy and stuff. I haven't seen her that happy in awhile, not since my stepdad had a round of never-ending heart attacks and, y'know, paying for the hospital bills became her main priority."

"It's unfortunate about your dad, like I think I might've mentioned before," she starts, "but your mom was smiling because you're her son, not because of your bringing me home. I'm a silly twenty-four year old girl with no place in your family. I doubt _I_ made her happy, Finn."

"Y—yeah, maybe you're right."

"Mm, I am," she says, pressing her lips together shyly, lifting the comforter she's covered in up so it covers just over her breasts.

"You make me happy, though," he says.

"Stop it," she barks. "Just... stop it, okay? Don't ruin what could potentially be a perfectly good weekend because you've got some idea the two of us have got something other than a good friendship going on."

"What did I say?" he asks defensively, eyes narrow. "You're a good friend, s'all. And besides, I'm not the one who sent that '_could we ever fall in love?_' text message, so..."

She grows almost too quiet, pulling up the comforter so it's basically at the tip of her nose. "Just _go_, Finn. _Please_. I—I'm tired."

"You're not, though, so I'll stay in here until you are," he prompts. "It's boring in my room. I'd rather sit and like, watch _paint_ dry than sit in there for hours trying to sleep."

"Mm, okay, fine, you can stay," she says, taking one hand and smoothing out the edges of the comforter. "But don't fall asleep here," she warns flatly. "If anyone walks in and sees us sleeping together, they'll—"

"Say nothing," he finishes, letting his hand rise up and rest on her covered kneecap, ignoring the way she flinches when he does so. "You're my best friend, and best friends can _totally_ sleep in the same bed. And hey, we've had sex before, so..."

"'_So_' nothing, Finn! We're nothing, okay?"

"Okay, okay, you made that more than clear." He _hates_ that every second he's thrown some constant reminder about how they'll never be together. If he didn't care for her so much, he'd probably call her the biggest pain in the ass right then and there. But he doesn't, because he loves her. She's his best friend, and best friends get past all of that bullshit, right? "Just... go to sleep, Rachel. I'll go."

"No... wait." She tugs at his wrist the moment he tries to get up, so he stays. She smiles, then asks, "Wanna listen to music?"

He nods, lifts himself off of the bed and scrolls down on his iPod until he reaches the 'Journey' section. "Which one?" he offers.

"Mm, any," she says, then changes her answer. "Wait! No! Not any. I specifically like_ 'Open Arms_','_Can't Fight This Feeling_' and '_Faithfully_'. Especially '_Faithfully_'. Yeah, why don't you just put that one on loop or something?"

He smiles at that, grin to the floor, an elongated breath once he plays the track. "It's a good song," he says. "My favorite, maybe."

She closes her eyes, pretends to sway to the music for a minute, then asks him to shut it off.

"But why? I just put it on."

"I'm tired," she says, pulling at her shoulder bone and yawning almost like, convincingly. She leans back into the bundle of pillows Finn's mom set up for her before they arrived, then tells him, "You know, you can stay if you want to."

"You say that a lot," he says briskly. "I think it's a key for 'please stay' or somethin', right?" He winks at her, and she giggles, her teeth protruding from her mouth she's laughing so hard. He thinks she's embarrassed. "I'll stay."

"Oh, good," she breathes, taking her hand to her forehead. "I might fall asleep, so don't mind me. Y—you can sleep next to me. Just don't kick me. I hate that, kickers."

He chuckles. "I'll try not to take out any anger because of my sleep depravation on you," he teases. "G'night, Rachel."

"Mm, 'night." She yawns and then she's out, and then it's just him. He looks beside him, though, and it's a reminder that, for _once_, he's not so alone.

He's got his best friend there with him, which is more than a good feeling.

* * *

><p>She wakes him up at exactly 3:34 in the morning, the heels of his hands rising up and viciously rubbing at his eyelids. "Mm, sleepy. What is it?"<p>

"I can't sleep," she says. "Not anymore, at least."

He shrugs, shifting awkwardly in the small space next to her, being sure to leave a bit of space in between the both of them. "Well I can," he laughs. "What's wrong?"

She sinks back into her pillow, her tongue surfacing on her lips, moving left and right a few times before she asks, "Why? Why'd you just get up and leave Ohio?"

"W'do'u mean '_why_'? I had to, I had no other choice."

"But you _did_," she says, rolling over onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Your house is just so... _homey_. Your mom obviously does a good job of keeping things tidy, y'know. It's just... cozy. If this were me bringing you over to my place, you'd probably be sleeping on a cot in the living room. My family's not really much about family, not the way yours is."

He looks just a little bit amused, but he hides it pretty well. "I never thought I'd end up in New York," he confesses. "Honestly, I thought after OSU — Ohio State, I went there for four years, y'know — I'd end up back in... well... Ohio. I thought my ass would never get out. But I did. I took a chance and followed Blaine and Kurt up to New York. It took me awhile before finding a suitable job, but I did. Being a firefighter isn't something I really ever pictured myself doing when I was younger, but it works. I like it. I like feeling brave and stuff."

She pauses, then takes one finger and runs it up and down his bicep, creeping up the sleeve of his t-shirt and leaving it there for a minute. "I think you're brave, Finn." Maybe it's the over-tiredness and the denial of it all and stuff. He doesn't exactly know. (He doesn't exactly _want_ to know). "I like that about you. You've always been brave, really outspoken."

He scrunches his nose, breathing heavily and sinking down into his pillow even more. "And what about you? How'd you end up where you are? Y'know, singing and stuff."

"I've been singing since day one, practically," she says. "Broadway's been a dream of mine ever since I knew about it. It just became one of those things where I knew. It's what I wanted to do for my whole life, still do."

"Then why don't you?" he asks.

"I try," she says. "And then some. I mean, like I told you, I've been in my share of off-Broadway shows, played some leads even, but it's just _so_ hard to break into the business now. I just focus on teaching vocal lessons, attend some auditions here and there. It's a pretty quaint life, at least more relaxing than I'd originally planned for it to be. New York's a beautiful place. That's one thing I'll never even think about regretting: moving there."

"I like the way you dream so big," he says, shuffling around so he's propped up on his elbow just the way she is. "I dunno how to do that."

"I just... dream," she says, eyes half-shut. "Like I mentioned before, I'm a fairytale kind of girl. I know the whole 'prince charming' thing'll happen in about, a million years or so, but it doesn't mean I still can't believe in it. I just... I like living life that way. It's—"

"It's easier then getting hurt," he finishes.

"Exactly."

He says nothing, just yawns into his pillow.

"Hey, Finn?"

"Hm?" He answers almost so lazily it aggravates her.

She hits him on the forearm — hard. "Do you think we'll ever have... y'know... _sex_ again?"

"I don't know," he says honestly. "Maybe, maybe not. But like you said, it wasn't really sex. Not _real_ sex, anyways. I'd like to not fake anything anymore, you know? Just... just live one day at a time, stop planning, stop screwing around."

She props herself up against the headboard at his words, and then he joins her. She bites down on her bottom lip, then lets her eyes latch onto his glance for what feels like an hour. "Mm," she says after awhile, "I agree."

And then after that, he's cupping her chin, letting his lips graze hers slowly. It's not like they've never kissed before, but this is different. They're not kissing during sex, they're not roughly attempting to swerve their tongues in and out of each others' mouths and they're definitely not going for the record of 'best hickey' or anything. It's slow, it's soft, and it's kind of romantic, something the both of them agreed they couldn't let happen.

But it is happening, and as it does, Rachel lets out a little moan, then jolts her hands up to cup both of his cheeks, letting her lips swivel onto his, not once allowing her tongue to escape. As she pulls away she only says a small, "Wow", and then he laughs.

"Y—yeah, _wow_," he says, eyes suddenly. "That definitely wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well it did," she says certainly.

He wrinkles his brow. "Should we have stopped it?"

She shakes her head. "N—no, I don't think so."

She smiles, then rests a hand on his chest, then says he should leave and get some sleep.

"Yeah, I should," he agrees. "S'like, four in the morning. Mm, g'night, Rachel." He contemplates kissing her again, he really does, but that'd _totally_ be crossing the whole 'best friend' barrier (a second time), and he _really_ doesn't feel like sitting down and sorting out feelings with Rachel right now. Not here, not like this.

So he doesn't. He tiptoes out of her room, shuts the door slowly behind him and rubs his hands over his lips, still tasting the stain with the name 'Rachel' written all over it.

* * *

><p>"So Rachel's just a friend, huh?"<p>

He blushes, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"I saw you last night," she starts, all mom-like and stuff. "You know, sneaking out of the guest room. Were you with her? With Rachel? You expect me to believe that's just a 'best friend' thing? Your checking on her in the middle of the night?"

He hates it when anyone questions him, really, but he doesn't mind it so much when it's his mom. Maybe because she's more curious than nosy or something, but he finds when she sits down with him, runs her fingertips over his knuckles and whispers all of these questions to him, he actually doesn't mind answering them. So with pressed lips he says, "Mm, kind of," he trails off and picks up a slice of toast she sets out in front of him. "Well, maybe..."

"And by 'maybe' you mean there could be something more but you haven't picked up on it yet, right?" she asks, eyes narrow.

"Well," he starts, mouth full, "she's like... totally awesome and she's probably the best friend I've ever had, so—"

"Best friend you've ever had?" she asks like it's a crime he's saying it, dropping her fork onto her plate and reaching for another slice of toast. "Must be a pretty wonderful girl."

"She... she _is_," he says. "I tell her everything, y'know. Like, she knows more about me then most people do, which yeah, is totally awesome. I just... I can't figure out exactly _why_ we tell each other so much. I mean, I know everything about her and she knows everything about me. It's kind of cool, having a friend like that."

"Well, you know what they say..." she says, a smile almost too big for her face gracing her lips. "If you don't fall in love with your best friend, it's kind of a rarity."

"Th—they say that?" he asks, eyes narrow.

"Well, similar to it, yes. What I'm saying is, if you find yourself falling for Rachel more and more, you'll rea— Oh! Hi, Rachel dear. Just... just grab a seat. There's eggs and toast and even some bacon. Blaine scarfed most of it down this morning before you or Finn were up, but I could always make more. Just ask. Here, here, let me get up. Sit!" His mom fidgets with a ring of napkins she's holding, plopping them down in front of Rachel as she scoots her body past Carole and down to the table. They're eating outside on the deck, and Rachel, too sleepy for her own good, practically trips on a piece of wood until Carole steadies her with her hand. "Careful there, darling. Sit down, please. And eat, please, eat. Finn, pass her the toast."

"_Mom_," he hisses, grabbing the plate and handing it over to Rachel. "There you go. If you don't eat up, my mom'll take it into personal offense. She's sensitive about her cooking like that."

Rachel smiles. "Well I'm sure her cooking is _delightful_."

Finn blushes (it becomes like, freakin' permanent), then waits till his mom leaves to say, "Sorry for last night."

She waves it off, one hand in the air and one gripping her fork, her eyes on her plate as she scrapes the silverware against it. "Nonsense. Don't apologize, okay? It's not like we haven't kissed before."

"Yeah, but that kiss? It was... different. I can't explain it."

"Neither can I," she says, obviously more interested in the forkful of eggs she's about to shove into her mouth. "Hey, did you know I was a vegan for almost three years during high school? I stopped once I realized the only thing it'd be doing to my health was bringing upon depravation from all of the good foods out there, but I was. Mm, I can't tell you how _good_ it feels to be eating eggs."

"Rachel," he says flatly, his index finger and his thumb squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"What?" she asks innocently, eyes big and apologetic. "I just... I can't talk about this now, alright?" she hisses, her whispering hushed.

"Alright." And he looks back down to his breakfast, his plate half empty, his fork shaking in his hands. He wants nothing but to talk about it — to solve it and to stop stalling on it. But he agrees to whatever Rachel says, curses himself for being like, spineless, and then shoves another forkful of eggs in his mouth, practically choking on them when he watches Rachel roll her eyes at him, her nose scrunched and her breath hitched.

"Just... don't," she says.

It becomes his warning to _do_.

* * *

><p>"Oh, and he was so <em>cute<em>!" He hears a squeal, so he walks over to the room just before the porch, turns on the light and stands behind the door for a few minutes, waiting to see if anyone'll notice him standing there.

They don't.

"Look at his hat! Is that Kurt? He looks so _little_! When did you and Carole marry? It must've been a spectacular wedding, judging by these pictures. Oh, wow, Finn looks _adorable_!"

He walks out to the porch and sees two shadows coming from the swing. It's Burt and Rachel, a photo album in the both of their hands, resting right in the center of their laps. Rachel's hand is rummaging the page, her fingertip sliding under a corner of an old photo of Finn from high school, his football jersey on and everything.

"You were quarterback, were you not?" she asks, not even bothering to look up from the picture. She kind of just knows he's there, which, yeah, is kind of weird and all.

He nods, hands in his pockets, awkwardly making his way over so he's standing in the front of them. "Sure was," he says. "How can you tell?"

"You just have that... I don't know... that _quarterback_ look about you," she giggles. Then she reaches her arm up, taking his hand and playing with his hair the moment he tries to sit down next to the both of them, plopping down on the right side of Rachel. "You were attractive," she says. "You must've been a big hit with the ladies, am I correct?"

He chuckles, head waned back. "Wrong. I had one steady girlfriend throughout high school, you know that. So cliché, we were; the quarterback and the head cheerleader." He swallows, then says, "I loved that girl", causing Rachel's brows to rise.

"Quinn was somethin' special," Burt adds, "but I'm almost one-hundred percent sure there's someone better out there." He nudges Rachel in the elbow at that. She blushes.

Finn bites down on his lip, exhales a bit and says, "Yeah, I'm sure, too."

Burt flips the page, then pushes the photo album out of his lap and onto Rachel's holding onto both Finn and Rachel's knees as he boosts himself up. "I'll catch you kids later," he says. "I've got your mother's tomato soup callin' my name in the kitchen, and, well, who'd miss _that_?" He winks, then leaves, and then it's the two of them again. Somehow, it always comes down to that: the two of them.

"So, your stepdad is really fond of you," Rachel starts, her breath shallow, her finger still rummaging the pages. "And these pictures? Wow. I wish my family would've been as close as yours was. You guys did _everything_ together. Me? I'd be lucky if any one of my family members would show up to one of my talent shows. You had a good life, Finn. I can tell through just these pictures."

Without even thinking about it, he puts his hand on top of hers, right on the page she's skimming, and leaves it there for a few.

She blinks a few times, then turns her head so she's facing him, ignoring their hands. "Finn, thank you."

"For...?"

"For bringing me here. It's beautiful."

"Oh, yeah, 'course," he says like it's no problem at all. It isn't, it really isn't. He enjoys her company (as if that hadn't been obvious before), and like, he can't imagine _not_ asking her. It's weird, the whole thing, but it's the truth. "Thanks for coming," he says, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes, running his large hand up and down her tiny one.

She nods, smiling.

"Rach, wh—what you and I have is special, I hope you know that." Again, he's _really_ not the greatest with words, but he tries because she's... well... _Rachel_. Biting down onto his lip, he looks to her, the way she sits so comfortably on his porch, the photo album in her lap, her eyes small and kind of curious. It's intriguing; _she's_ intriguing. (She always has been).

"I—I know," she squints a bit despite it being pitch black and nighttime, lifts her hand out from underneath his and brings it to his hair, gripping onto it with a bit of force. "You're my best friend."

"Oh yeah?" he teases. "And just why is that?"

"Because you're going to help me pay for the endless supply of _Wicked _CD's we're going to throw at that jerk-off. You know, the one who decided it'd be a good idea to take me on five dates and then ditch me when he decided he'd had enough."

His eyes widen. "_Five_? Rach, c'mon!"

"I was sucked in by his Broadway-esque charm," she admits coyly, her tongue finding its way between her teeth. "He was just so... charming."

Teasingly, Finn asks, "D'you think _I'm_ charming?"

She flicks him on the forearm, sticking her tongue out at him jokingly. "The most charming," she says, giggling. "But, in all seriousness, you're one of the most charming people I know."

"Why's that?" It's really not an ego thing with him, really. He just likes listening to her talk (most of the time).

"You just... are," she starts, replying primly. "There's just something about you. From the moment I met you, I was instantly attracted to you."

He lifts a hand to her forehead, pressing his palm down on her skin. "Is this the right Rachel? The Rachel I know? My best friend? You sure you haven't come down with something? Rachel Berry calling _me_ attractive? The world's over."

She's giggling so hard she loses the photo album in her lap, watching it slide onto the floor in a close-eyed round of hysterics. "F—Finn, stop! Stop it!"

"C'mon, admit it," he teases, poking at her side, just underneath her ribcage. "You think I'm good lookin'."

She laughs, cheeks burning red, a hand on his knee assuringly. "I think you're _lovely_," she says. "One of the best looking people I know."

"Same here." He nods because he's confident it's true. "You're beautiful."

She blushes, leans her head up and kisses him right on the nose. "Mm, thanks, Finn."

"Yeah, no problem. Just felt like you needed to hear it or somethin'. Y'know, so you'd know that those times we hooked up weren't just... y'know... hookups."

She throws him that 'what-the-fuck-do-you-mean' sort of look, her eyebrows raised and her grin fading fast. "I never asked you to prove anything," she says. "I honestly thought you were telling me that just because."

"Well, yeah, I mean, you're beautiful, Rach," he says. "I'm pretty sure you don't need me to tell you that. B—but this is different. I just... I want you to know that I'd never use you. Not for sex, not for a fake relationship. S'true when I call you my best friend. You are, you're my best friend."

She just leans into his side, her arms brushing against his. "Thank you. I love you."

"I—I love you, too."

He stutters, and it's not like it means anything aside from like, the 'friend' crap she goes on about, but it's kind of worth it, he thinks.

(Even though the next ones'll be better, he's sure).

* * *

><p>Blaine, Kurt and Rachel all head to bed after the whole fireworks show is done on the fourth, the three of them claiming to be too tired to stay up long enough for Carole's apple pie.<p>

"More for Finn and I!" she exclaims, waving Finn into the kitchen. "Hey, I'm glad it's just you and me, sweetheart. I wanted to ask you something."

"Y—yeah, yeah, sure," he says, grabbing a seat at the table as his mom sets an entire plate of apple pie down in front of him. "It's kind of late, and I should probably go say goodnight to Rachel before she falls asleep, so could we make this quick?"

"Depends," she says, eyes narrow, her fork digging into the plate she set in front of the both of them, "how quick would you like to make it?"

"I—I don't get it," he admits, his stomach far too tangled to touch any piece of food.

"Finn, let me tell you something," she starts, letting her hand roam his, her fingers grasping his knuckles. "If you _really_ care about someone, like... _really_ care about 'em, you'd be stupid to let 'em go. Eventually, she'll go."

He gulps, because he doesn't even have to ask who she's referring to.

"If you keep denying it, that's even worse. There's no denying you're completely in love with the girl. Now, you've just gotta go after her."

"You don't get it, mom," he starts, shaking his head. "I'm not in love with Rachel. Y—yeah, she's a beautiful girl with a big heart and like, my _best_ friend, but I can't ever see myself being with her, y'know?"

"N—no," she says as if she's disappointed. He wonders how badly her heart breaks, because she's like, _way_ more in love with Rachel than he is, that's for sure. "Finn, I see the way you look at her. The way you sneak in and out of each others' rooms at night. Just last night you practically fell asleep on the front porch together until Blaine came and found you two outside at almost three in the morning. You may not know it, but you love her."

"But I _don't_," he hisses. "Trust me, I've tried, but it's not easy."

"And why's that?" she asks, fingers gripping the handle of her coffee mug stiffly.

"Because she's... she's complicated," he says. "She's not easy to love. She wants romance; fairytale romance. I can't give that to 'er, look at me! I'm just as big of a mess when it comes to relationships, so I'd be no good for her. She's screwed up. She's not right in the head, something's not right. I mean, she's a beautiful girl and she means well, but we're not good for each other, me and her."

"You'll never know if you don't give it a shot, Finn," she offers. "That's what I did. Do you think I had any idea I'd remarry after your dad passed? Because I sure didn't. But then... then I met Burt. Burt is... he's the most loving man I've got the pleasure of knowing. He's perfect. He knows I'm damaged — who wouldn't be after losing a husband? — and he still treats me like I'm golden after all of those years. He's a beautiful man, Burt, and he gave me a second chance at something I never thought I'd have again: a family."

His heart hurts a bit after listening to her story, and then he grips her hand, her fingers still tangled on the handle of her coffee mug. He places his own hand right over, ignoring the burning of the hot coffee and just rubbing his fingers onto hers. "Mom..."

"Don't feel sorry for me, sweetheart," she says. "It's not a sad story. It's a good one. And you know what I say? Go for it. So what if she's emotional? She... she loves you, I can see it. Take a chance, Finn. You never know what'll happen."

"That's the thing, mom," he says, head ducked, "I've tried, but... but I can't. I love her, but I'm not _in_ love with her."

"Well, I can't change your mind, but..." She leans over, kissing him on the forehead, a hand to his cheek. "Go say goodnight to her, work out whatever needs to be worked out right now. Don't be foolish, Finn. She's a lovely girl. I told you that once and I'll tell you that again. I really like having her around, and I can only assume you do too, right?"

He nods, his face flushed. "Y—yeah, but like I said: it's not easy."

"And nothing ever is. Trust me."

* * *

><p>She doesn't open the door after three knocks, so he just walks in, assuming that she fell asleep or something.<p>

She hasn't. Not yet. She's hunched over a suitcase, viciously throwing in shirt after shirt, pants after pants, her knuckles white as she tugs onto a pair of shorts. "Just... get out, okay? I'll be out of your hair in a few hours, tops."

"W—wait... what?" His head's like, spinning in circles, and he feels his breath start to hitch, and then the room goes dark, Rachel just a blur in the corner, harshly throwing articles of clothing into a suitcase like she's being paid to be violent. He watches her teeth clench, her eyes swell. "Rach, talk to me."

She waits until she's a foot away from him, then turns her body so her forehead's almost touching his. "_No_," she spits harshly. "Give me a few minutes to pack, a few minutes to find a cab and an hour or so to wait for that cab. This _is_ cowtown, after all."

"I—I thought you liked this town!" he shouts, even though he doesn't mean to. He kind of forgets the fact that it's almost two in the morning, so he holds onto the edge of the suitcase, stopping her from closing it. "Rachel, _wait_. You can't just runaway from here without giving me a reason. C'mon, you owe me a reason!"

She grits her teeth together, and then he watches her eyes swell up, her eyelids shutting tightly. "You want a reason? I'll give you one! How about... I don't know... maybe I'm too screwed up in the head! Something's _definitely _not right with me, right?"

He feels a pounding in his chest, and then his stomach drops. He ultimately thinks he's either going to throw up or cry or something, but he grabs onto her wrists, says, "Look at me", through clenched teeth and gets her in his hold before he says, "I didn't know you heard me."

"Yeah, well, too late," she spits, forcibly trying to push his hands from off of her wrists. "I heard what you said, and it kind of killed me. Call me insane, call me dramatic, whatever. It kind of killed me inside and running away from you is the only plausible thing to do, I'm sure of it."

"Rach..."

"Don't 'Rach' me, okay? Don't ever 'Rach' me again. As a matter of fact, give me your phone. I'll delete my number for you." She holds out her hand and he objects. "How convenient'll that be, huh? I'll just erase you out of my life, just the way you'd like it to be."

He shakes his head because _no_, that's _not_ the way he'd like it to be. He puts pressure on the bridge of his nose with his index finger and his thumb, squeezing down hard, his head shaking rapidly, a coherent sentence unable of being formed. Yeah, sure, it's a rarity for him because, well, he's _Finn_, but at a time like this, he hopes to spark a miracle or something.

He doesn't. "Just, um, Rach, hear me out," he starts. "I'm not the only one who pushed this whole idea of us ever being together aside, okay?"

He knows just how much she hates to be wrong, so she clenches her jaw, throws one hand over her chest and sits down on the edge of his bed. "I can't forgive you," she says. "Not after what I heard you saying."

"Yeah, well, I understand that, but..." he trails off, wanting so badly to just put a hand to her kneecap, call her his best friend and ask her if she'd like to raid the kitchen for an after midnight snack with him. But he doesn't. He sighs, throws back his head and shuts his eyelids tightly. "Rachel, I understand why you're mad at me, okay? But, just... don't push yourself away from me. I'd like to continue being friends with you."

She sits up then, turning away from him, her arms folded at her chest, one hand swiftly moving a piece of hair away from her forehead. He watches the way she moves; how tense she is, how angry she is. It kind of scares him away, but he's not the one running. She is.

"Too late," she says, her lips pressed and her hands on the handle of her suitcase. "I'm leaving and there's nothing you can do about it, alright? D—don't follow me out the door, don't try and hunt down the cab I'm taking, and don't do any crazy things like track my credit card down to see where and when my flight'll be landing, alright? Don't. Have a good time here in Ohio, and when you get back home, don't look for me then either."

"Rachel..."

"Delete my number from your cellphone. Hell, store me as 'the devil', I could care less at this point." He looks at the way she frowns, like she doesn't really want to say these words but kind of _has_ to. (She doesn't _have_ to, but she is, so whatever). "What I'm saying is: don't go looking for me. If I come to you, I come to you. But chances are, I won't. To be honest, this juvenile act of 'is-it-more-than-just-a-sexual-thing-or-not?' is sort of getting old. I enjoyed getting to know you, Finn, I did. I appreciate you inviting me here to Ohio. Y—your family is lovely." Cue the tears. He watches her wipe underneath her eyelids, her voice growing weaker, cracking a bit. He tries not to lay out a sympathy card on the table for her, so he doesn't. He gulps a bit, but he's not sympathetic. It's _her_ choice to leave, not his.

"Have a safe flight, Rachel."

"I will."

And she leaves.

* * *

><p>His text conversations starts to make him look insane, because really, he's only talking to himself.<p>

Finn: _Did you get home okay?_

Finn: _Did the plane have good food? They usually never do, but I know you like peanuts, and they've got those._

Finn: _Please tell me you got home safe. _

Finn: _If you hate me, press 'pound'. You know, this thing: #_

Finn: _Now would be a good time to answer._

He sighs, shuts his phone and tells his mom he's got a seven o'clock flight back to New York.

"But you don't leave until Sunday," she says. "That's three days away."

"I have some business to take care of," is all he says.

She winks then, her lips forming a small 'o', Blaine and Kurt smirking on the couch in the living room. "Well, carry on then."

He will. He _so_ will.

* * *

><p>"Hi, you've reached Rachel Berry. I can't get to the phone right now, so leave your name, number and anything else you think'd be essential in a voicemail and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a nice day, bye!"<p>

"Yeah, hi, it's Finn. I've got a seven o'clock flight and it'd be nice knowing where to find you. Y'know, I could check at your apartment and stuff, but Lord knows whether you told Brittany and Santana about me at all, so... maybe that's _not_ such a good idea. Anyway, I can only hope your flight went like, swimmingly, right? Yeah, so, uh... see you when I see you."

* * *

><p>He goes to her apartment and isn't too shocked when someone else opens the door. This time it's Puck, and he's pretty sure that's Santana's boyfriend or something, so he nods and asks to come on in.<p>

"W—where's, uh—"

"She's not here," Puck says quickly, Santana coming up from behind him shortly after, nodding.

"Last time I saw her was this morning," she says. "She snuck in at four, showered, changed her clothes and then said she'd be back 'whenever'. I'm not so sure what you did to her, but you might wanna like, fix it or somethin'. Pretty sure the girl's claim to fame'll be fainting in front of a Broadway theater due to a broken heart or some shit."

"Jesus," Finn says, head shaking. "Well, uh, thanks. If... if she stops by again, tell her I came by, okay?"

"Will do," Puck nods.

"Yeah, sure thing," Santana agrees. "Want me to tell her how screwed up in the head she is too, or...?"

He feels like _punching_ something. But he doesn't. He just says, "Uh, yeah, sure. While you do that, you could remind her of all the times I called her beautiful and stuff. Oh, and this might come as a shock to you all, but I kind of like, meant it, so..."

Santana winks. "I'm just messin' with you. Lord knows the girl's got enough damage to cover for all of us. It's not your fault you were the only one brave enough to say something."

Puck snorts. "Bitch is crazy, but she really liked you. Not sure how long the whole 'fuck buddies' thing went on for, but once it stopped — it _did_ stop, right? — she went on and on and on and—"

"We get it!" Santana interrupts. "Anyway, go after her. Letting her get away and use her lil' broken heart for the whole world's pity isn't the smartest thing to do, just sayin'."

"Well, yeah, but... do you know where I could find her?"

"Look, I wish I could help you out, but if she isn't hangin' around Broadway trying to land some role or some shit, she's in that... y'know... that 'hiding spot' she likes to bring up from time to time," Santana tells him.

"No one knows where it is or anything, but you could try," Puck finishes.

Finn just nods, his breath growing heavier, more pant-like. "Geez, oh, yeah, thanks so much."

"So you know where it's at?" Santana asks, eyes widening.

"'Course I do," he says.

* * *

><p>He makes his way to the rooftop, and yeah, it's hot out and it's really uncomfortable for him to be walking up here when she's all pissed at him and stuff, but if he doesn't do it now, he'll lose <em>so<em> much.

"Rachel?" And she's there. She turns around because she's _there_. Her hand's on the rail of the building, gripping on tightly. She looks as if she's been crying or like, thinking _really_ deeply. (It's probably the latter, but he considers his options, because she _totally_ cries a lot).

With a gulp in her throat she folds her arms, then whispers, "W—what are you doing?"

"I had to see you," he says, but only because it's the complete truth. "Rachel, promise you'll hear me out? _Please_?"

This time, she makes a bolder move than the both of them, stepping forward and taking his hands in hers, swiping her fingertips across the bone on his wrist. "'Course," she swallows, "but only because it's been just a week without you and I'm already going insane. You know, more insane then I've always been."

He chuckles, something like relief in his eyes. "You don't know how happy that makes me."

"Really?"

He nods. "Mm, really. It's just... the two of us... we'll never be _that_ couple. We met at singles meetings down at the rec center, for god's sake. I mean, how functional can we be?" He laughs, and for the first time, so does she. "But Rachel, I've never _once_ lied when I called you my best friend. You're my best friend. You know how I know that?"

"Hm?" she asks, head tilted, her hands still roaming his forearm.

"You and I, we told each other everything. I told you so much useless, meaningless shit about my life and yet you took it and laughed, made it into a bigger story. I can't help but go through every day thinking, 'Oh, god, this'll make phone conversation gold, I can't _wait_ to tell Rachel'. And I would. I'd tell you everything about my day — big or small, you'd know it. You and I know a helluva lot about each other, Rach, and neither one of us can deny it. You can like, quiz me on yourself right now, and I'll buy you a new apartment if I score less than a ninety. And it's not just me. You... you showed me things. Like... like _this_. This is your hiding place, somewhere you go to get away from it all. Why show me?"

She shakes her head, her eyes moist, her lashes batting up and down a bit, still with a tight grip onto his arms.

"The times we don't speak to each other? They're hell, Rachel. I try and talk to Blaine or Kurt about things, but they're no you. They don't listen to me ramble for hours on end and we definitely don't get wrapped up in like, pointless topics and yet _still_ manage to laugh. That's _you_ Rach. You and I."

She nods, still silent, her tongue roaming the outside of her lips.

"I know we played a game. The 'let's-lock-all-of-our-emotions-behind-this-glass-box' kind of game. But I don't want that anymore. And Rachel, I know we've had sex. And I know you said it was meaningless. And yeah, so maybe it was. Maybe it meant nothing. But you? You mean something, okay? Y—you're my best friend, and yeah, I tried to go this long without being romantic, but throughout the entire time we've known each other, you should've just forced me down and stamped the word 'denial' all over my body. It was basically like, impossible for me not to fall in love with you. You call yourself insane? I look for ways it makes you adorable. You tell me about all of your stupid exes? I make scenarios in my head to kill 'em all, _Call of Duty_ style, most times. You tell me you've got a new favorite Broadway show? I look up the soundtrack on the internet because I know you'll be playing it the next day. Point is: you're my best friend and nothing can change that. Except lovin' you. That could change it. But that week we decided not to talk to each other? That changed me. It like... killed me. You know why?"

She speaks for the first time, muttering a small, "Why?", her eyes tearstained and swollen.

"Because I missed my best friend."

She blushes.

"Y'know, 'cos I'm completely in love with her and stuff."

She takes his face in her hands then, squeezing his cheeks with her hands, her tongue between her teeth. "I. Love. You." Her breath is shallow and she's peppering like, a million and one kisses to his jaw, but he can't help but soak it all in. She swirls her tongue in between his lips after that, but it's the opposite of meaningless. "I was waiting for you to say it," she says.

He chuckles, tapping her on the nose. "And why didn't you say something first?"

"Too weak," she says, shaking her head. "Didn't know how. I'm not as good with words as I make myself out to be, you know?"

"Well, yeah, I can relate to that," he says, going in and attempting to deepen the kiss, his hands roaming through the back of her hair, his lips pursed.

"Mm, not so fast," she says, waving her index finger right before his eyes. "You're telling me _you_ aren't good with words? Please, Finn, you practically just recited a speech."

He laughs. "I love you so much."

"Doesn't that feel good to say?"

"It does," he nods. "S'pecially to my best friend."

She smiles a satisfied smile then, lifting his hand up to hers, then taking her pinky and swirling it around his, locking them together. "It's a 'best friend' thing, I think. At least, it's what they do in all of the movies, so..."

"Oh, that's... that's cute," he goes into hysterics, watching the way she fiddles with his fingers.

"Isn't it?" she asks. "Finn Hudson, from here on out, we're best friends for just about forever, correct?" She's using such a sing-song kind of voice, and he can't help but (admittedly) fall in love with it.

"That'd be correct." Then he raises their pinkies, presses his lips down to them and sighs.

"I've never been good at it," she starts, her brown pupils expanding when she speaks. It's almost too dramatic for his taste, but then he remembers he's totally and completely in awe of this girl, so he soaks up all her dramatization with a chuckle, grabbing her hand and intertwining it with his.

"Good at what?" he asks.

"Keeping friends," she says. "Until you."

* * *

><p>AN: So my fingers are aching because I'm stubborn and like to finish projects the night I start 'em (even if it involves crazy, intense all-nighters with zero percent sleep), but it's done! Your thoughts would be more than appreciated. :)


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